Beastly Revenge
by Little Loony
Summary: Werewolf hunter seeks revenge the Order enlist her help. It's not a marysue despite it's apperance. And there is not a spark of romance between any of the cannon characters and the O.C THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER HALF BLOOD PRINCE. SPOLIERS ARE PRESENT.


The Chase- Chapter One.

_A/N: I would first like to start by apologising to any of you who speak French, fluently or otherwise. I haven't spoken written or read anything in the language for at least five years, so you could say that I am a little rusty. I do hope that any phrases that I have used or will use aren't terribly off the mark. I will of course be checking my French phrases and the like with an online translator and my French for beginners handbook._

**_ b Disclaimers: All belongs to J.K. Rowling, except any character that you don't recognise, they are mine. Liadan has been lovingly borrowed with permission from Orlaith. Check out her Stories they are excellent. Any resemblance to actual events is absolutely intentional; it is my little nod to the legends of la Bete de Gevaudan. /b _**

Gregoire Chastel screamed into the darkness. The man stalled, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, breath coming in short sharp drags; his lungs were burning. Gregoire leaned heavily on a tree head resting on his chest, eyes closed and trying to calm his breathing. He pushed his blonde hair out of his eyes and unhooked his hip flask; he took a swig of the mercifully cool water and panted slightly. He surveyed the area around him taking in his surrounding looking for an escape route. The dried leaves hid all manner of trap, both man made and natural. The broken twigs that littered the forest floor would offer an alert to his pursuer, and taking sanctuary in the leafless trees would offer no means to cover his escape. Gregoire sighed: even the moon was at his back. The faint chill in the air highlighted his warm breath. The tools that he used to trap his quarry were the things that were leading him to his death. Gregoire stood – to linger any longer would be foolish. Suddenly he heard a rustling noise behind him and a twig snap, his eyes snapped open but all he saw were teeth.

This hunt had started like all the others. The pair, having followed and counted the wolves previously, had advanced slowly into the woods remaining down wind of the pack. They had picked off the weaker omega wolf of the six, small and almost gangly. This left the Alpha pair and the Beta wolves; three of the beta wolves had tried and failed an ambush. The pair had seen them off with a couple of heavy duty stunning spells and in a rather extreme case, the killing curse. Gregoire and his wife Margaret, two of the best werewolf hunters in France, had tracked and found the Alpha pair in a wooded clearing. The full moon made the visibility good, Margaret positioned herself to the left side of the female wolf; provided the direction of the wind remained, it would be a swift kill. Gregoire watched the larger of the wolves; the alpha male was the largest wolf that Gregoire had ever seen. It was easily as big as a cow, with thick mane of fur covering its shoulders and what appeared to be spikes of fur running the length of its body. Gregoire watched as the large male paced the clearing erratically, pausing, listening, and sniffing the air for signs of them. The female, smaller although just as dangerous as the male, was stood quietly in the middle of the clearing, howling and waiting for a response from the pack – there was none. The smaller female was grey in colouring, not as well built as the male but she had the advantage of speed. Margaret signalled Gregoire, she was going to advance; Margaret wanted to take out the female. Gregoire nodded his consent. Margaret pulled out her wand and stepped catlike and agile over the debris that littered the forest floor, Gregoire remained stationary and watched his wife for any sign of a fault. Margaret moved quickly and quietly toward the female wolf. Margaret stepped over a broken log and onto a heavily leafed area of the forest floor; the female wolf turned and stared straight at his wife. Gregoire's heart jolted, Margaret was sinking, and she was up to her knees in mud. The big male wolf howled and ran toward Margaret the alpha pair advanced on the stricken woman, who was now up to her waist in mud and leaves. Gregoire realised that his only hope for the survival of him and his wife was to distract the wolves. The female wolf snapped her powerful jaws, almost mocking the dark haired woman. Margaret now up to her chest screamed out a warning to her husband. The big male turned as Gregoire burst through the bushes into the clearing. Gregoire no longer had the element of surprise, he pulled his wand and fired a stunner at the big male wolf as it reared up, the stunner hit the wolf squarely in the chest, and its immense body hit the ground with a thud. Gregoire ran toward his wife as the female wolf howled. Gregoire pulled at his wife's arm, she was submerged up to her neck only her left arm, and only her head was left above the surface of the stagnant mud. Gregoire summoned all his strength and try as he might, he could not save his wife. The suction of the mud pulled far stronger than him and he felt her struggles fade as the thick ooze closed over her head. Her fingers became loose in his hand and he felt her slip away.

Gregoire levered himself from the ground, bloodstained and broken, and turned to face the wolves. All he saw was the moonlit clearing. The alpha male conscious and the pair were still roaming the forest. Gregoire looked at the moon; there was still four hours until dawn, the chase continued.

Dominique Chastel, first year Beauxbatons student, stared absently out of the window. The classroom was stiflingly hot, and the fires on which the student's cauldrons were simmering upon were not helping Dominique's drowsiness. Though Potions was Dominique's favourite subject, the ridiculous heat was making it difficult to concentrate. It was the beginning of her 1st year as a student and already she was counting the days until her summer holiday started. It was the only time of the year when she could spend some quality time with her parents. Although on occasion she resented their absence, Dominique understood that the business of werewolf hunting offered nothing but odd hours, even worse fees, i and /i even the chance of a painful death thrown in as a incentive. They were however, always there for her when they were needed.

A sharp rap on the door broke her from her reverie. Madame Du Fronsac entered the classroom; the regal looking headmistress looked unusually sombre.

"Mademoiselle Chastel, could you follow me?"

Dominique followed the Headmistress out into the hallway and adjusted her robes and tie nervously.

"Dominique. I have received a letter. It regards your parents," Madame Du Fronsac said quietly. The older witch reached into the pocket of her robes and produced a black envelope. The wax seal had been broken, but Dominique could clearly see the Chastel crest. With trembling hands Dominique opened the envelope and removed the parchment inside. It was definitely a piece from her fathers writing kit. She opened the folded parchment and saw her fathers beautiful cursive handwriting.

_Dominique,_

_If you are reading this please don't cry. It is undignified for a Chastel to cry in public. Rather you be strong for your mother and I. Our works kept us from you for far too long, but remember; we loved you always. We tried to save you from what we had to do. I cannot explain what we were doing as this letter maybe intercepted, and that could put you into great danger. Arrangements for your school fees have been taken care of and an allowance will be sent to you at the beginning of every school term. Make no mistake that we want you to complete your education, please respect this as out last wish. As for what is to happen to you, my dearest daughter you are to stay with your uncle Antonin when you leave Beauxbatons for your summer and winter vacations. When you have completed your education, contact Professor Dumbledore of Hogwarts he will inform you of how we died. Until that day I feel that it is best that you don't know. Please remember we were doing what we thought was best. I wish that we had had more time to explain. We love you._

_Mama and Papa_

Dominique read the brief letter, and re-read it and re-read it again. However hard she tried she could not change the words on the page. Her parents who she loved beyond words, were dead and she was left alone. Dominique, young as she was, was far from stupid; her parents did not want her to know the exact details of her death until she was older. The patience she could muster, but the burning desire to avenge the death of those that she desperately loved was almost too much. Dominique swore there and then to avenge her parent's deaths. The only problem now, was finding which werewolf did the deed. Dominique felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes and the burn of anger in her chest, and remembered the request of her father. Do not cry in public.

Dominique attended her parent's funeral; she was accompanied by her uncle Antonin. The service was dignified and sombre, and almost unemotional. The Chastel's and Dolohov's united in their grief and divided by it also. Neither family seemed to mourn the loss of Gregoire or Margaret. The wake was equally subdued; many of her relatives did not lament the loss. It was almost as if they were ashamed of them. Dominique knew that the Chastel's although Pure-Blooded were far more liberal than their in-laws. Any fool could sense the strained conversations. Antonin however was far more charismatic, charming even. Dominique knew somehow that living with Antonin Dolohov was going to be a life altering experience.

Her summer and winters spent in the Dolohov household consisted mainly of Dominique immersing herself in books, and being taught about the ideals of the Pure-Blood society, her grandmother, Meliora, insisted that Dominique learn about her family line.

Dominique went back to Beauxbatons and tried to continue her school life as usual, but her grief slipped into apathy and her enthusiasm for learning anything dwindled. Dominique slipped into a powerful but highly influential group of friends (Much to Her Grandmother Meliora's delight). Most students feared the group. By their sheer number and high-powered connections, they intimidated the teachers as well. By the end of the seventh year, Dominique had scrapped through her N.E.W.T.S. with the grades to enter into the Werewolf Division within the French Ministry. She had taken the first step to avenging her parents.

Suddenly Dominique had regained her verve, her enthusiasm, and threw herself into learning the spells, techniques and hunting strategy to catch and execute illegally operating packs. Dominique wanted to become the best werewolf hunter that France, Europe, and the world had ever seen. Her single-minded drive and ambition vexed her class mates, and endeared her to her teacher and instructors. By the age of 19 Dominique had killed her first wolf.

Dominique sat attentively at her desk in the cramped classroom of the French Werewolf Registry and Control Bureau. The instructor, Captain Jacques Duhamel, was instructing the class on proper techniques to subdue a single werewolf.

"When faced with a werewolf, one must never corner it. The beast feels threatened and will attack with more than it usual ferocity. Remember while in animal form the wolf is much more resilient. It does not respond well to 'stupefy' or the 'impedimenta' spells. Could anyone tell me what spells do work on a werewolf?" Captain Duhamel looked quickly around the room and noted the only hand raised was Dominique Chastel's. "Dom?"

"The stronger disabling spells, stunners. 'Ferula' often works when trying to restrain a single wolf. However, it is ineffective when dealing with a pack situation."

Dominique paused and took a breath, she looked to Duhamel who nodded his consent for her to elaborate, and she continued.

"The unforgivable curses can be used in extreme circumstances. The killing curse works _if_ the wolf is hit with it. The Cruciatus curse can prove to be… less potent with a fully transformed werewolf. This is due to the high pain threshold of the creature. The Imperious curse should never be used on a transformed wolf because it has no effect, and it should never be used whilst in human form because it could unleash the 'wolf' side of the person. Of course failing magical methods, silver bullets always work." Dominique closed her mouth and exhaled slowly through her nose. The rest of the team was looking at her in mild awe.

Captain Duhamel smiled indulgently at his favourite pupil. Jaques Duhamel had been hunting unregistered, illegally operating werewolves for many years now. He had known Gregoire, and in fact had been Gregoire's hunting partner until the beautiful Margaret Dolohov came along. Margaret, like Dominique, had had enthusiasm for the subject, she was a pureblood after all, and the British Ministry were far too soft on the Half-Breeds. Then for some reason at the height of the reign of the Dark Lord, Gregoire and Margaret had broken away from the W.R.C.B and gone freelance.

"Team! We have a hunt in two weeks. A pack is operating out of Paris. We need a hard fast hit, with preferably no survivors. This pack has been around along time, more often operating out of The Howling in London, and occasionally in the Gevaudan region. We will be working in tight with the British Ministry. They also have a stake in apprehending this particular pack. Killed two Aurors late last summer, so I want no embarrassments. We are the best in Europe, the best in the world. Let's show them why! Now, go home rest up and practice – in the morning 5am sharp."

The room erupted in cheers and whoops. Captain Duhamel grinned and excused the class, as Dominique pushed past; Duhamel took her by the arm.

"Dom, could I have word with you?" Dominique looked mildly perplexed, but nodded her consent. "I'm taking you off this next hunt," Duhamel continued. He raised his hand to silence the protest that he anticipated. "Dom. I don't want you involved in this hunt. If I catch you anywhere near here, the hit or the pack I will have you fired. You are now officially driving a desk pending the completion of this hunt. Do you understand?" Dominique glared defiantly at him from under her dark heavy eyelashes. "Do you understand!" The woman nodded and turned to leave. "Dom. I need you to give you full co-operation to the British Ministry. You are the best we have. Can you do that? Will you be our liaison?" The tall woman nodded again, Duhamel could tell that she was inwardly seething but continued on, "Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks will be arriving this afternoon. I would like you to meet them at three in the reception." Dominique nodded, turned on her heel and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Dominique walked quickly toward her office; the oak floor beneath her feet creaked and groaned. As she passed, the portraits hung on the bland grey walls muttered about cases long since resolved. She turned a sharp left and entered another corridor, this one far longer and narrower that the other and dimly lit, her office was situated at the far end of the hall.

"Pandemonium," she said as she approached the Portrait of Boris the Betrayer that covered her door. It swung open with a loud groan and she stepped inside. A flock of memo's followed her in. They deposited themselves into her 'in' tray, as she flopped with a thud into the high backed chair. Dominique picked up the pile of memos and flipped through them.

"Junk, junk, junk, date, meeting, meeting reminder. Boring, boring, boring!" And with an unceremonious flip, she tossed the memos into the bin.

"Incendio," she muttered, and the bin burst into flames. Dominique, in frustration, picked up a case file from her desk. She flipped it open, scanned the profile page, and flipped it shut again; she threw it at the door, it bounced off and hit the floor. Dom put her head in her hands; she was feeling a little rejected. The job was her life and she was being forced to take a back seat. She looked around the office – the empty 'in' tray, the full 'out' tray; she was the picture of working efficiency. Nothing was out off place, except the scorch mark on her wall. Nothing was filed incorrectly. Dom looked at the plaque over her door 'Messy Room Messy Mind' it said. Dom smiled, it had been a present from her grandmother. Her emergency uniform was hung on the back of the door; the crisp white shirt and tailored trousers rustled as the door opened, and another memo floated in and landed in her in tray. Dominique opened it.

i Dom,

Get to reception! The Auror's are here.

Samuel /i 

With a groan, she lifted her self from the chair and Apparated to the front desk area of the Ministry. Her black dragon hide boots clicked loudly on the overly polished floor of the reception. Dom turned slowly and almost tripped over a deceasing plant. The sensation of being squeezed had passed, she looked around for the Auror's. Kingsley Shacklebolt looked how she imagined a British Auror to look: neat, tidy, boring. Nymphadora Tonks on the other hand, had bubble gum pink hair, and blue jeans on under her travelling robes. Dominique rolled her eyes; the girl looked unprofessional and ill prepared for the meeting. Dom stepped forward and offered her hand to Kingsley.

"I'm Dominique Chastel. Lieutenant of the French Werewolf division," she said with a warm smile. Kingsley returned her smile; Nymphadora Tonks however, did not.

"I've read about you. You're the youngest ever Lieutenant in the Division, and you have highest body count." Tonks seemed to find the words distasteful. Her expression was one mostly likely found on someone who had just stepped in Centaur dung.

Dominique concluded that Tonks must be one of those sympathisers, the ones that thought werewolves didn't deserve the 'unfair treatment that they get'. Dominique nodded.

"67 werewolves dead in 10 years, and 430 arrests. I am very proud of my achievements. I hear that you will be working here on the Greyback case?"

A look passed between the two British Aurors that said that Dominique's information had been relayed incorrectly.

"Actually Lieutenant Chastel, we were sent to accompany you to the British Ministry," Shacklebolt said in deep rumbling tones.

Dominique must have looked stunned. The two Aurors looked mildly uncomfortable. After a moment of silence Dominique spoke.

"If that is what the higher ups want," she sighed and continued. "If you will excuse me I need to get some clothes." With that she Apparated with a pop.

Tonks looked at Kingsley.

"I don't like her," she snarled

"I wonder how she will react to Remus?" Kingsley said, and smiled.

"With any luck she won't meet him," said Tonks, still gritting her teeth.

With a loud Pop Dominique re-appeared. The three returned to England.

Tonks landed first with a thud on the grass banking outside 12 Grimmauld Place, Kingsley next and quickly Dominique.

Liadan felt uneasy sitting in the chair at the head of the table, which had once seated Albus Dumbledore. She had never seen herself as fit to lead, but rather as being an important follower. The candle lit kitchen was dim, the flickering flames producing the sombre and grim effect Liadan had aimed for. Around the wooden table, chairs clustered devoid of occupants; but of course, Liadan had arrived early, nerves getting the better of her. Slowly members of the Order dribbled in. First, Harry Potter with his two friends, but tonight the werewolf hunter would report, and Liadan was most anxious to hear her piece.

Liadan watched as more people filtered through the door; the clunk of Mad-Eye Moody's wooden leg could not tear her gaze from the doors frame. They were late, and Liadan became impatient. To her left sat Remus Lupin, and to her right Mad-Eye, as if only there to ratify her position at the head of the table. When finally the final three members strode through the door, Liadan stood.

"You're late," she snarled at the woman who was still unable to seat herself. "I trust there were no… difficulties," she said turning her impetuous glare to the two Aurors who had accompanied her.

"None," Shacklebolt Kingsley grunted. "We were just late."

"Very well. Let us begin. I would like to introduce to you, Dominique Chastel," she paused before saying in amused tones, "a werewolf hunter."

"I was told Albus Dumbledore would be here," Dominique demanded. Liadan's blue eyes narrowed into glowing slits.

"Have you no respect! Albus is dead."

The room seemed to shudder collectively, each member of the group hanging their heads. The room seemed darker, and far colder than before as each member slowly shot disgruntled looks at the new-comer.

"Forgive us," Liadan hissed through gritted teeth. "The loss is still too near. You are here to advise and aid the capture of Fenrir Greyback. Your expertise on this subject is gratefully received. How do you intend to achieve this?"

When Dominique Chastel stood, Liadan surveyed the woman before her. Oh, she was dangerous, the way she had risen from the chair had shown that she saw herself superior to those there; her blond hair looked almost brown, but had an ordinary dullness one could only describe as being dirty. In many respects she was plain; her eyes were blue, but not extraordinary; the danger was certainly in her personality, Liadan surmised that her sympathy to the Pure-Blooded ideals of Voldemort, was only surpassed by her hatred of werewolves. Liadan raised the hood of her cloak and shuddered, showing only her eyes.

Dominique began, "I don't _advise_ you capture him at all, our best chances however, will be at full moon."

To Liadan's left, she could feel Remus Lupin stir. "I disagree, Fenrir will be in his werewolf form then, he will be protected by that. We know that he is active even when the full moon does not shine, he is weaker then – surely that would be best."

Dominique looked completely taken aback. "And what would you know about werewolves?"

"I am a werewolf," he replied simply. Dominique's eyes widened as a look of disgust was painted across her face.

"I still disagree," she said, recovering her momentary lapse of manners. "Full moon is safer for all parties involved, there is a greater risk. Think! Greyback revels in attacking children, surely he must know he is hunted! He will position himself where he can cause the most damage," she finished.

Liadan watched from beneath her hood. "From my own knowledge of Greyback, and believe me, I have been around him far more often than yourself, he thinks himself invincible. There you have your weakness. How will you strike?"

Dominique looked at Liadan stonily. "I am doing you a favour – it would be in your best interests not to spit on me at every turn."

It was at this moment Liadan lowered her hood, it slid down her dark hair and onto her shoulders; she raised her head, thin smile playing on her lips, her eyes dancing with pure and undiluted malice. "No one told you, did they?" Liadan whispered, though in a bouncing tone of dislike.

"You're parents," she spat. "Were high on Greyback's list. Your mother died mysteriously whilst hunting him," she paused, licking her lips. "And your father was slaughtered by the bastard himself. Now, tell me if you're still doing me a favour?"

Dom swallowed hard, tears welling in her eyes, she blinked them away quickly "I will need four people, and some time," Dom replied quietly.

"You have it, but I need fast progress. Ron, Remus, Tonks, and Fleur if you would be so kind. I have something of my own to report. I have spoken to the person in question, which is why he is not here tonight. Voldemort has targeted Arthur Weasley as his next 'victim' if you will. We are doing everything in our power to hide him. I am confident that he is safe."

"We said the same about Emmeline Vance! How do we know we won't lose Arthur too?" piped up a voice. Liadan merely replied, "You didn't ask me to protect Emmeline Vance. Trust me, not even the Dark Lord himself will find Arthur, I would however, advise you all to be on your look out. Danger strikes in the most unlikely places."

Liadan Looked around at each of them, before announcing "That will be all. Meeting adjourned. Dominique, tarry a moment."

The werewolf hunter remained seated, and when the last of the Order of the Phoenix had vacated the room, she approached the head of the table. Liadan promptly stood. Dominique stood head and shoulders over the slight woman. Dominique decided that she could trust this woman, if the order could entrust this woman as secret keeper so could she.

"I am grateful for your being here. I have something that I was asked to keep safe, it is yours though, and I would prefer you have it." Liadan drew something from her cloak, closed tightly in her hands. As Liadan pressed the cool object into Dominique's own palm, she felt the calluses of pressured hands; a flash of silver at Liadan's belt startled her. Perhaps Dominique had been wrong, Liadan was dangerous, and not to be trusted. Liadan walked slowly to the door, as Dominique looked at the thing she had been given.

It was a bracelet, silver, sparkling in the flickering light, encrusted with blood red rubies. She had a vague recollection of this bracelet – as if she had seen it before.

"Wait! Liadan? Where will you go?"

Liadan spun, already masked beneath her hood. "I go where I am least wanted. You need know nothing else." She bowed. "Until next time, werewolf hunter." Liadan vanished up the stairs and out of sight.


End file.
